The Imperfection of Everything Human
by sassafras224
Summary: Jack makes a mistake, and it puts Sawyer's life in danger. How far will Jack go in order to make things right, and will any of the other survivors be willing to help after Sawyer's latest con? AU after 2.13.


_"It belongs to the imperfection of everything human that man can only attain his desire by passing through its opposite."_

_~ Soren Kierkegaard (Danish Philosopher, 1813-1855)_

Prologue

Jack knows that it's his fault.

He was angry when Sawyer took the guns, so angry that he stopped bringing the man his meds. He told himself that Sawyer didn't deserve any favors, and that he certainly didn't deserve the door-to-door service Jack had been providing. He sometimes wonders what he would have done if Sawyer had sought him out and asked for the pills, although he tries not to think about that too hard. Like most patients, Sawyer must have assumed that since he felt fine, he was fully recovered. But Jack knew better.

He knew that Sawyer had been a few days short of finishing the full course of antibiotics; knew that interrupting the treatment cycle practically guaranteed that the infection would come back. He knew that a returning infection was often worse than the original—that the weaker bacteria would have been eradicated within the first few days of treatment, while the stronger, more resilient bacteria remained to spread quickly through the already-weakened body if the antibiotics were stopped too early. He knew all of this academically, but he had failed to consider the practical implications. Somewhere in the deepest recesses of his mind had been the vague idea that if Sawyer started feeling sick again, he might realize that he wasn't as tough or independent as tried to be. It might make him a little more grateful, a little more willing to give something back to the group. At the very least, it would wipe that self-satisfied smirk off his face.

He never meant for it to go this far—had only intended to withhold the meds for a day or two. Not long enough to do any real harm. He hadn't planned on Sayid finding Henry out in the jungle; hadn't realized how much time was passing while he and Locke argued about what to do with their uninvited guest. He'd allowed himself to get so caught up in defending his role as their "leader" that he had neglected his responsibilities as a doctor. Forgot all about Sawyer and the antibiotics.

Locke would say that the island was trying to send him a message, or some crap like that. Hurley would say that he needed to lighten up. Sawyer, were he in any shape to participate in the conversation, would say something obnoxious in a gleeful attempt to make Jack angry. Kate... he isn't sure what Kate would say; two whole months on the island and he still hasn't figured her out. Ana Lucia would say that he was only doing what he thought was right, and would shrug in that dismissive way she had. Sun would say, gently, that everyone makes mistakes. None of them would blame him half as much as he blames himself.

Somehow, that only made it worse.

I

Sawyer sat on the beach, polishing the ridiculously long barrel of one of the rifles he'd stolen from the hatch. Personally, he'd have preferred a 9 mil. or a .45 to this huge hunk of metal, but he had to admit that it made a statement. _My gun's bigger than yours, Jack-off,_ he thought, grinning to himself._ In more ways than one_.

He didn't think he would ever get tired of picturing the look on Jack's face when he realized that Sawyer had played all of them. They had underestimated him, assuming that his redneck accent and propensity toward fistfights meant that he was stupid. He'd used that to his advantage, of course, and it had worked exactly as he'd planned. No one had even seen it coming.

Conning was a game, and when Sawyer played it he was in charge. He had more control over the lives of the people he conned than he'd ever had over his own life, and he knew himself well enough to realize that this was part of the appeal. The adrenaline rush was as good as any substance-induced high— it made him feel _alive_. He could have gotten the same effect by shooting himself up with drugs like One Hit Wonder over there, but that would have been too easy. It was in Sawyer's nature to make things as difficult as possible, although he didn't know if it was because he craved the intellectual stimulation or because he needed to punish himself. Probably both.

Like he'd told Kate when they'd first crashed on the island, he was a complex guy.

As if his thought had summoned her, Kate materialized out of the darkness in front of him. He paused almost imperceptibly, then continued the slow, easy motion of running his cloth over the rifle, trying not to look at her as he waited for her to say something. "How'd you do it?" She asked, finally.

"How'd I do what?" He was careful to keep his voice neutral, determined not to show any emotion. To be honest, he was surprised she was even speaking to him. Everyone hated him again now, and that was the way it should be. It was comfortable, familiar. It was what he deserved.

But there was some unknown, unfamiliar part of him that didn't want Kate to hate him... and that scared the shit out of him. So he'd done the one thing that he knew would push her away.

He'd figured from the beginning that this con would cost him whatever points he'd managed to rack up with Kate, but it was worth it if it kept her safe. Sawyer had heard the not-so-veiled threat the night they'd gone looking for Michael, and he didn't think the Others were the type to give false warnings. His goddamn shoulder was proof of that—been back almost two whole weeks, and it still hurt like a bitch. The way he saw it, all that talk about misunderstandings and crossing invisible lines and putting shoes on people's coffee tables pretty much boiled down to one thing: mind their own business and leave the creepy Others alone, or someone was going to get hurt. Seeing Kate in their hands once had been more than enough; he refused to let it happen again. Jack, on the other hand, had decided that it would be a good idea to provoke the bastards by forming his own pathetic army and playing real-life G.I. Joe.

Sawyer knew Jack and Locke would never listen to him, and frankly, he was getting tired of having his future decided by two men who were quite obviously losing their grip. So he took the the guns. No guns, no army. It was simple, effective, and pretty damn fun, too; with the added benefit of putting himself back where he belonged in the island popularity ranking. Perfect solution.

Except, of course, for one curly-haired, freckled little detail.

That detail was still standing just a few feet away, watching him. When she spoke again, her voice was tight and strained. "Locke said that he left you in the hatch when he went to hide the guns, and we both know you can't track worth a damn. So how'd you get them?"

Sawyer gave her a half-hearted smirk. "A magician never tells his secrets."

"You played us," she accused, the hurt obvious in her expression. "You played me. All that stuff you said about Ana-Lucia—you knew I'd go to Jack; and you knew I'd ask you to go to Locke."

"Now, how in the world would I know all that?" he replied, his tone a calculated mixture of innocence and sarcasm.

She wasn't buying it. "Did you have anything to do with Sun?"

Sawyer had expected that question, but it still felt like a punch in the stomach. "What kind of person do you think I am?" He snapped, trying to convince himself that he didn't care about her answer. _He_ knew exactly what kind of person he was, and she couldn't say or do anything to change that.

"What kind of a person do I think you are?" Kate's voice grew louder, more intense, as the anger he'd been waiting for finally reached the surface. "I don't think this has anything to do with guns, or with getting your stash back. I think you _want_ people to hate you!"

There was a long pause, then Sawyer smiled slightly. "Good thing you don't hate me, Freckles," he said softly. Dammit! Why the hell did he say that? It had just popped out, like he had no control over his own damn mouth.

Her eyes were sad now, the spark of fury gone as quickly as it had appeared. "Why do you have to do this?"

She, of all people, was asking him why? He glared at her, and spat out a response without thinking. "You run, I con. Tiger don't change their stripes."

He felt sick as he heard his own voice repeating Gordy's words. Kate looked as if he'd just slapped her. She walked off into the darkness without another word, leaving him alone.


End file.
